


Silver Dollars

by helens78



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Canon Disabled Character, Disabled Character, Fluff, Happy Ending, Kissing, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-28 15:52:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/309513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helens78/pseuds/helens78
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik has no intention of letting Charles man the kissing booth for the Xavier Institute fundraising carnival.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silver Dollars

**Author's Note:**

> Post-beach, post-injury, but full of hope and happy endings. Written for an xmen_firstkink prompt: _Charles is working a kissing booth, and Erik empties out his entire wallet trying to monopolize Charles's time and make sure no one else has a chance with him. Could work either pre- or existing relationship._

"You are not doing this. It's absurd."

"It's a school carnival, and I'm an instructor at the school. We obviously can't have the _students_ manning the kissing booths, now, can we?"

Charles thinks this is logic. Erik gives him an exasperated look and shakes his head.

"It didn't even occur to you to _ask_ me?"

"I thought you might be in Moscow," Charles says, and the way his eyes do _not_ stray to Erik's helmet, over on his nightstand, is almost more obvious than if he'd done it in the first place. "You know it's a bit difficult to get in touch with you for last-minute permissions."

For which Erik has had to forgive him on multiple occasions, much as he doesn't like to share. He's always welcome here; he knows that. Alex and Hank and Sean have said as much; when Darwin appeared again, finally coalesced from billions of particles of light and energy, he agreed, too. It's bittersweet to have an offer like that, and he knows it won't be long before Raven takes them up on it. She might bring Azazel with her, and Azazel would bring Janos, and then where would his brotherhood be? A White Queen, a Black Queen, a Red King, and none of them certain their powers are better off divided from their kin.

He's not thinking of any of that right now. He's thinking about Charles's mouth, as red and luscious as it's been since the day they met.

"Regardless of other circumstances," Erik says, "you are _not_ running the kissing booth tomorrow. You're _not_."

Charles lifts an eyebrow, and gestures Erik to come back, lie down with him.

«I'm sure if you really feel that strongly about it,» Charles thinks, his thoughts slipping into Erik's mind like cream into coffee, swirling and leaving everything lighter and smoother for its presence, «you'll come up with an inventive way to prevent it.» Out loud he adds, "But no property damage this time, please, Erik. We've only just repaired the west wing."

* * *

Erik has his own solution slung into a satchel, one hundred solutions, all in shiny silver dollar coins, emblazoned on the reverse with an eagle and the word "peace". Erik thinks Charles might appreciate that, even if he can't appreciate the silver-copper alloy in quite the same way Erik can.

He floats the satchel down at the head of the booth before Charles's fundraising carnival begins, and takes a seat on the edge of the booth itself; Charles isn't out yet. Erik can wait.

And wait he does, until Charles rolls out over the lawn and raises an eyebrow at Erik. "You've got another ten minutes before this booth opens," he points out. "A little eager, aren't we?"

"You're one to talk," Erik says, smirking just a little. Charles colors, beautifully, and clears his throat.

"Yes. Well. Let's wait out that ten minutes. Unless you have another appointment...?"

"Nothing at all for hours and hours. Days and days," Erik says, straining not to add, _weeks_. But Charles's lips curve up into that impossibly beautiful smile of his, and he sits back in his wheelchair, grinning.

When the clock strikes eleven exactly, Charles clears his throat and leans forward, elbows propped comfortably on the shelf of the booth. Erik slips off the edge and opens up the satchel, pulling out the first silver dollar and sliding it across to Charles.

"I do believe I'm your first customer," he murmurs, as Charles glances into the satchel and raises his eyebrows, his lips pursing into a perfectly-shaped "O".

"My first _how many_ customers?" Charles asks, but he's already tilting his head up, parting his lips just the way Erik likes.

First, second, third, fourth; Erik kisses Charles softly at first, slowly, but by the time they've made it to the tenth, eleventh kisses, Charles is breathing hard and reaching out for Erik, clutching at the neck of his polo shirt. Erik places his hands over Charles's, ever so _very_ aware of what these kisses are doing to him; having lost so much sensation below the waist, Charles's erogenous zones have moved north to compensate, and biting gently at his lower lip after having kissed it into high amounts of sensitivity is both torture and downright _obscene_ to do in public. It amazes Erik that anyone at all can look at Charles and not want to kiss the color off his mouth, to bite his lips until Charles gasps and begs for mercy, but then... if he truly thought no one else was interested, he wouldn't have put the odds so thoroughly in his favor, might have settled for twenty or thirty silver dollars.

This is _his_ , though. These kisses; this man. This beautiful, infuriating man, with his gorgeous red lips and his untenable ideals: _this man_ , Charles Xavier, the first person Erik has ever wanted to, _tried_ to, lay a claim to. Charles is _his_ lover, _his_ delight, his to kiss, his to possess and keep to himself, forever if he can. The world can take so many things: it can take freedom and life and hope and love, at the hands of inhuman ideologies or all-too-human ones. It will never, ever, take this from Erik. Never, and his hands in Charles's hair are his vow that it won't.

«I want to be alone with you,» Charles thinks, dizzy, giddy, entirely breathless. «Enough of this, Erik, please, enough-- we can make love like this all afternoon and they'll never know, but _I_ know, and I need...» The images are clear for him, and Erik struggles to control himself when Charles projects them. «I need to do to you what you're doing to me,» Charles thinks. «I need to make you come as many times as you've made me...»

"So you'll be closing down the booth, then," Erik says, breathless. "Tell me I've won this round, Charles. Give me that."

"You win," Charles whispers back. "You win everything; get me inside, Erik, _get me into bed_."

He does, of course. It didn't take a hundred coins; it barely took twenty. Nineteen, and he leaves the rest in the booth for the Xavier Institute volunteers to pick up and add to the donations collection. He knows he's helping rebuild a sense of _home_.

 _-end-_


End file.
